I Love Stupid Things or Midnight Snack
by Cakedish
Summary: Two people meet in a bar.


Harmony is hungry. There's a deep, gnawing pain in her stomach, like a tiger eating its way out, and the bar's bright lights, clean lines blur as she blinks over and over. She tries to push the pain to the very back of her mind, but it's so… painful. And she's so lonely.

One perfectly manicured hand covers her beer glass, shiny pink nails smiling up at the ceiling. She hasn't had a drop yet, and it isn't that she doesn't like to drink; Harmony loves to drink. It isn't that the beer smells sour and stale either (or that beneath her hand it's dull and pale), though that isn't exactly a turn-on. She just doesn't want it. She wants something else. Something hot.

He's dark-haired and puppy-eyed, and the air around him _tastes_ like Ivory soap, all light and too clean. His lips look soft, and move so dramatically when he speaks. And he speaks a lot, though she hasn't heard a word he's said all night. He sat down, then he bought her a beer. And he's talked, and talked, and talked, and talked ever since, and she hasn't listened one bit. It's too hard to care. Besides, he's his own captive audience.

And she's bored. And so hungry. And that thing he's doing with his mouth while he talks, that dumb, dramatic, annoying thing that she loves, makes her want him to just shut up so she can marry and fuck him and kill him at once and be done with it. Like, right away. Like, now.

He doesn't shut up. She thinks that she'll make him.

"So, Parker…" She smiles in her sweet, clueless way that nine times out of ten makes anyone take advantage.

"That reminds me, you haven't told me your name yet. And here I am prattling on, probably boring you to death, not even knowing who it is I'm boring. So what do I call you?" He smiles too. It's kind of nice, she thinks, in an annoying sort of way.

"Call me Harmony, but, um. Parker."

"Harmony. That's a nice name."

"Sure. I mean, thanks."

"Well, Harmony. It's midnight. Look at the clock, one hand has met the other hand, they kiss. Isn't that wonderful?" And he looks at her like he really thinks it is. Likes it's the most wonderful thing in the whole wide world that clock hands can find love.

She giggles breathily. "That's so pretty."

"No, you're pretty. That was pretentious." He _is_ a dork, but a cute dork, not a Xander Harris-brand dork. "But I really feel like I've opened up to you tonight. You've gotten to know Parker Abrams. I want to get to know Harmony. Tell me anything."

She's lightheaded, mind wrapped up in velvet then hammered to bits, and the roaring, gnashing, gnawing in her stomach makes it hard to focus. But she tries, reels in the disjointed pieces of herself to make something resembling a whole. "Well, what can I say? I mean, I guess I'm pretty normal. Well, better than normal. Like, way better, don't worry. And I was just in this really stifling relationship, such a nightmare. I mean, he was sexy and everything, but he was a total jerk, always thinking about himself, never caring about _my_ needs. But that's over now, and I am totally and completely ready to be with other people. Like, maybe you. Tonight." She stares at him, eyes a mix of pain and hope and that damn pressing hunger. Then she laughs. "Oh my god, did that sound slutty or something? It wasn't supposed to sound slutty."

His laugh is throaty. "Not at all. It sounded… Like you're in control of your life. I can respect that. So many girls are all clingy and dependent, have trouble moving on with life. I don't think you're like that. You seem strong."

Everything about him is just too charming, too politely condescending or whatever the word is, and she grows tired of waiting for him to catch a passing signal already. "Maybe it was supposed to sound a little slutty," she whispers, leaning in, all shiny pink lips and cleavage.

She hears his breath slow. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." She moves her hand to cover his. "Parker. Do you want to go somewhere alone?"

"With you, right?" He grins, like he can't believe how lucky he is. Winner of the lottery.

"Um, duh? I don't see any other girls with you."

"Well, yeah. Looking at you, everything else kind of fades away." She's torn between wondering if that line really works and melting at it, but chooses to go with ignoring him. It's simpler that way.

"Sure. That's fine. Let's go." Their hands wrap together and she's pulling him hard, off his stool and out the bar's back door, so that they're standing in an alley filled with dampness and garbage when she kisses him hard. He tastes like toothpaste. Fresh. Clean. Bright.

But he hesitates, pulls back and looks at her in intrigue and confusion. Deep brown eyes wide, with a furrowed brow. Confidence lost, he stutters, "We. We're gonna. Yeah. Of course. But. In an alley? This alley?"

She closes the gap between them, places her hands on his shoulders. "Sure. Why not? It's a place."

"Not a very romantic place." He's gone back to smiling, not really caring.

"I'm _tired _of romance." There's this whine in her voice, this urgency, and her mind is all a wash of _Spike hearts lipstick black black take me out you never take me out growling satin smoke on his breath and it's still not beating leave _until she knows she really means it. So when she moves in to kiss him again and her mouth ends up somewhere down and to the right of his, it's all very intentional.

He's loud when she kills him. Screaming and begging and crying until she moves her hand to cover his mouth, warm lips and hot breath on the fleshy pads of her palm. He grows limp in her arms, and they're both kneeling on the cement when the first cold raindrops fall. Her fangs leave his neck, her hand leaves his mouth, and she wipes some remaining blood from the bite-mark, taking time to lick her fingers clean of it. It's warm and heavy, sticky-sweet, like honey, and bitter, like old coffee grinds, all his light and cleanness swept away.

Harmony's hair frizzes under pin-and-needles rain that slickly coats her skin and bathes his wound. Soaking t-shirts cling to their torsos, each others and their own, bright pink mingling with olive green until both are deep, dark shades of what they were. One hand self-consciously flies to her hair, but everything tells her it doesn't really matter, she's done for the night, she's still beautiful.

Full and happy, she stands smoothly from the floor of the alleyway, licks her lips and kicks his fallen body. His mouth is slack in muted horror, and hers is a wide, wide grin.


End file.
